She wears a little gown,
Her body feels so cold.
Soaked up by the water,
Like the stories untold.
Here and there with some scars,
Her hand so violet
It's there that she has chosen,
Too late to regret it.
Her eyes are open wide
The look she has is sad
No desire to live,
So she chose to be dead.
This poem has not been translated into any other language yet.
I would like to translate this poem
This poems heals my wonds